


Let's Ride

by MissAudreyHorney



Category: Saturday Night Live Sketches
Genre: Based on a Saturday Night Live Sketch, Choking, Cowgirl Position, David Harbour Extended Universe, F/M, French Kissing, Multiple Orgasms, Muscles, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Some Humor, Some Plot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAudreyHorney/pseuds/MissAudreyHorney
Summary: Like everyone else who watched David Harbour on SNL, I have the hots for Deacon from the SoulCycle sketch. Unlike everyone else, however, I decided to write some smut about him. This is my headcanon for what would happen if Deacon was able to overcome his addiction to cocaine but not his addiction to pushing himself.
Relationships: Deacon/Reader, Deacon/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Let's Ride

“What up? My name is Deacon and today I will be your beacon of inspiration, SoulCyclers!” the man at the front of the room announces, his left fist positioned against his right palm. He’s tall, muscular, and very handsome, despite his hair looking like an auburn pineapple. You don’t recognize him and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s new or because this is the first time you’ve come here on a Thursday. Maybe you’ll start coming here every Thursday, if not every single day that he’s instructing a class.

All through your workout, your eyes are glued to his massive arms and very little of your attention is paid to anything else. Your mind is hyperfocused on his biceps and triceps flexing as he grips the handles of the stationary bike. Every time he says “let’s ride”, all you can think about is riding him. The few moments that you do manage to look up at his face, you catch him glancing at you and smiling.

He seems friendly, although rather corny and much too enthusiastic; an occupational hazard perhaps. He also seems dumb, really dumb. Last year, you swore off guys like him. Guys who know their exact body fat percentage but can’t remember their own phone number. Ever since then you’ve restricted yourself solely to seeing more scholarly men, mostly professors and academics. The ones who have a lot to offer in terms of mental stimulation, but to your subsequent disappointment, not much else.

Of course what Deacon may lack in brains, he more than makes up for with his brawn. His white tank top is delightfully tight around his torso, showcasing the musculature of his chest and the suggestion of washboard abs. Surely there’s nothing wrong with appreciating this delicious piece of eye candy while he’s in front of you. It’s not like you’re entertaining the idea of having a relationship with him or anything like that.

When the class is finished, you feel happily exhausted. Getting down from your bike in the first row, you see Deacon turn off his headset before he points to you and says “Hang back for a second, alright?”

“Okay,” you agree slowly, unsure of his intentions. After gathering up your things, you walk over to him with your curiosity piqued.

Deacon wipes the sweat off his forehead with a towel and drinks a large gulp of water. “You did great today,” he congratulates you.

“Really? I was so worried you were going to put the candle in front of me.” You both laugh.

“Never even considered it,” he declares with a smirk.

Gosh, he’s cute. He has one hand on the bike and one hand on his hip. It would be intimidating if he didn’t seem a bit shy at the same time.

“You, uh, you busy later?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah, I’m going out with a friend tonight,” you tell him.

“Oh,” he says with a dejected eyebrow raise.

“I’m not busy tomorrow night though.”

“Me neither,” he responds, his smirk returning.

“Do you want to get a drink together?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Empty calories?” you guess.

“Nah, I’m in NA.”

“Oh,” you reply, attempting to hide your surprise. “Would you want to get something to eat instead?”

“Yeah. There’s this new gluten-free paleo place I’ve been dyin’ to check out.”

You try not to grimace at his suggestion. That sounds awful to you, the last place you’d want to go, but he’s just so cute and so buff, you’d eat anywhere with him. “Let’s go there then.”

“You sure?” he asks, propping his elbow up on the bike and resting his head on his hand.

With those arms of his, of course you’re sure. “Yeah. It’s a date.”

“What time you wanna meet?”

“Um, how about seven-thirty?” you offer, slipping your phone out of your pocket.

“Alright. Seven-thirty.”

“What’s the place called?” you ask him so you can look up the address.

“Soul…Cycle” he answers slowly, confused.

“No,” you reply, stifling a laugh. “What’s the name of the restaurant?”

He takes his phone out of his gym bag. “Oh, it’s Beast. It used to be a McDonalds.”

This restaurant keeps sounding worse but you don’t let it deter you. “What’s your number?”

“I don’t remember it yet. I had to get a new one.”

“Here,” you snatch his phone away from him and start typing in your number. You save it to his contacts, because knowing his type as well as you do, he’s probably going to be late. Not out of malice, but sheer absentmindedness.

After putting in your info, you notice that his wallpaper is simply a blue background with white letters that say ‘believe in yourself’. You also notice the time as you’re handing the phone back to him. “I have to go,” you say apologetically.

“I’ll see you tomorrow though, right?”

“Yep, seven-thirty,” you confirm, heading towards the exit. He doesn’t say anything else but the last glimpse you get is him looking down and blushing.

Your head is in the clouds as you make your way home. Deacon isn’t at all the type of person you see yourself settling down with, but something about him is just so charming in a way that catches you off-guard. It’s a challenge to push away the thoughts that you repeatedly catch yourself having about him, both throughout the rest of the night and during work the next day. Thoughts of how adorable his dimples are, how much better he would look without a man bun, how good he probably is in bed.

Walking up to Beast at seven-twenty-nine on Friday, Deacon is leaning against the front of the building. He’s early but he’s wearing yet another sleeveless shirt. He looks more like he’s going to the gym rather than on a date, and you would be annoyed if he wasn’t so damn good looking. The smile he gives you when he sees you is bewitching.

Entering the restaurant together, you notice a few people checking him out, though he seems oblivious to it. Maybe his choice of attire isn’t so bad after all since he isn’t the only one in here who is dressed like they just left Crunch Fitness.

He spends the entire meal talking about his acting career, or rather his failed attempts at it. Most of his roles so far have been as an uncredited extra. His big break, he says, was portraying a corpse on Law & Order. His next break was supposed to be a small part in the movie Hustlers but that never came to fruition. “I thought I’d be a shoo-in, y’know? Already having experience playing a dead guy,” he explains to you, “but they never called me in for an audition.”

He also tells you that before he landed the job at SoulCycle, he used to be a waiter. He says that he had to quit once the maitre’d informed him that because he’s so tall and muscular, he was terrifying the customers. It’s hard to imagine that the poor lug would have been much good at it anyway.

It’s his gorgeous eyes that make it easy for you to pretend to be paying close attention to whatever it is he’s saying. You’ve never seen anyone with irises in such a deep, dark shade of blue before. Even if he was a good conversationalist, you would still find yourself getting lost in the beauty of them.

“Oh shit,” Deacon curses as you spot the server bringing over your check.

“What? Did you forget your wallet?” you question with an unintentional edge of annoyance in your voice.

“No,” he answers, pulling out his billfold. “I just realized I’ve been talking this whole time. I’m so sorry.”

His sudden self-awareness brings a smile to your face. It also makes you feel like a bit of a jerk for jumping to conclusions.

“I asked you out ‘cause you’re cute and I wanna get to know you but I can’t seem to shut up about myself,” Deacon continues.

“It’s fine,” you assure him and lay your hand over his on the table.

At this moment, you realize that you’re actually having a good time. Yeah, he didn’t ask you anything about yourself but he didn’t do it on purpose. Most men who make that mistake never even recognize it, much less apologize for it. And yeah, he made you come to this restaurant that you wouldn’t otherwise set foot in, but apparently ‘gluten-free paleo’ really just means meat and vegetables, something you’re not at all opposed to.

“I guess I got kinda carried away since I was staring at your eyes and how pretty they are,” he admits, reciprocating your smile.

“I could say the same to you.”

Deacon turns his palm upward and folds his large fingers over your much smaller hand. The sensation of your skin touching his sends an unexpected wave of heat through your body.

When your other hand reaches for the check, he slides it away from you. “No,” he asserts, shaking his head. “My treat.”

“Thank you,” you reply.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says almost dismissively.

As he pays the check, his thumb runs along your wrist, sending you another wave of heat. It’s tough to figure out if he’s doing it deliberately and if he knows the effect it’s having on you. The way he looks at you from across the table makes you feel like the temperature of the room shot up by 50 degrees.

“Let’s get out of here,” you propose.

He doesn’t say a word, just stands up from his chair, and you waste no time doing the same.

“Thanks, bro. Keep the change,” Deacon tells the waiter on your way out.

“Where to now?” he asks expectantly once you’ve left the restaurant.

“Would you like to come over to my place?”

“Oh hell yeah,” he exclaims.

In the time it takes you to get your phone from your purse and open the Uber app, he has already hailed a cab. With a rush of excitement, you slide into the taxi with him and tell the driver your address.

Impulsively, you reach for Deacon’s upper thigh, giving it a playful squeeze. Taking that as permission granted, he slides his hand across your cheek, moves your face towards him, and kisses you. He kisses you with hunger and urgency in his lips, showing that he’s just as eager as you are, if not more so.

His lips begin to trail downward and you’re more than happy to oblige him by tilting your head to further expose your neck. Gratefully, his tongue laps at the sensitive little spot directly below your ear. “Oh, Deacon,” you whisper, hoping only he was able to hear but not the driver.

Lifting the front of his black shirt, your fingertips brush over the ripple of his abs. It’s a sensation that you didn’t realize you missed until yesterday. Your fingers travel further up, finding a patch of hair on his brawny chest. Incapable of controlling yourself, you give it a firm tug, causing him to grunt into your skin.

As the short car ride comes to an end, you dig into your bag, pluck out a twenty-dollar bill, and shove it in the cab driver’s hand. When he turns around to give you for change, you and Deacon are already halfway to the entrance of your apartment building.

Much to your chagrin, one of your neighbors gets on the elevator with you. While this might prevent you from doing exactly what you were hoping, it doesn’t deter Deacon from slipping his hand up the back of your blouse. His caress sends a tingle down your spine. You feel as if you’re going to melt when he kisses the top of your ear.

As soon as the elevator arrives on your floor, you’re practically pulling him down the hall. The feel of his huge hand still on the small of your back causes you to fumble with the keys as you desperately attempt to unlock your front door. With immense relief and glee, you finally manage to get it open and yank him by the shirt into your tiny studio apartment.

Once the door is shut, his mouth is back on yours like a magnet. Normally you would turn on some music, offer him something to drink, and maybe light a candle but there’s no need for any of that. The mood has already been set simply by being near each other.

You let out a small gasp as your back hits the wall when he presses into you.

“Did I scare you?” he asks with concern, momentarily moving his lips away from yours.

“Yeah, but I liked it,” you reassure him before capturing his mouth in another kiss.

As Deacon’s tongue massages yours, his hands explore your body, pawing and grabbing at your breasts, hips, and ass. His grip is strong, but with an underlying gentleness, as if he’s holding back, as if he might be worried that he’s going to hurt you. You do not share his fear, however, not in the slightest. If anything, you’re craving for him to be rough. You’re needy for another sensation you’ve been missing, aching for him to put his hand in the last place he would think to put it himself.

“Have you ever choked anyone before?” you ask breathlessly, breaking off the kiss.

Deacon shakes his head. “Not since that time I was suspended in high school,” he confesses with a straight face.

You let out a laugh. Why couldn’t he have told you that story during dinner?

His expression softens as he gives your question a second thought. “Oh, you mean like in a sexual way?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you wanna teach me?” he asks with a grin.

“Give me your hand.”

He holds it up and you grip him by the wrist. Just this simple act has your heart racing. You can feel it beating against his fingers as you move them into place on your neck.

“Press right here?” he inquires innocently, with his thick thumb hovering over your windpipe.

“No,” you answer, repositioning his palm closer to the center. “Squeeze on the sides.” His hand is so big that it inadvertently tilts your head up a bit as it wraps around your throat. 

“Like this?” he asks, giving gentle pressure.

“Harder,” you instruct, wanting him to put some of that muscle to good use.

“Like this?” he asks again, applying more pressure.

Your eyes fall close and your mouth opens into a smile. “Yes,” you encourage. “Just like that.”

“What if you want me to stop?” he wonders in a husky whisper.

“I won’t,” you sigh.

“But what if you do?” He squeezes a little tighter, making you moan.

“I’ll tap on your arm,” you blurt out before he presses your lips together.

Deacon’s other hand moves to your waist and you help him undo your pants. You whimper into his mouth as his large fingers slide into your panties, seeking out your slick heat. Quickly they find their destination and the pad of his middle finger teases your swollen clit. The feeling of both of his hands on you is a heady combination, one that has you blissfully overwhelmed while still begging for more.

When the heel of your hand gently pushes his shoulder, he immediately loosens his grip and backs away a bit.

“Bed,” you breathe out, blood rushing to your head.

“Oh, right, yeah,” he agrees.

Both of you scramble to the opposite side of the room and begin to undress. All of his clothes come off almost instantly, as if he’s had a great deal of practice. You, on the other hand, seem to struggle. Your pants slide off easily enough but your buttons seem like a Rubik’s cube underneath your excited fingertips.

Looking over at him, your hands freeze in place on the bottom of your blouse. He’s watching you intently while his nude form reclines on your bed like a renaissance painting.

Not a single second of his time at the gym has gone to waste while building up his beautiful body. Your eyes go wide at the sight of the bulging muscles of his arms, the width of his broad shoulders, and the hard lines of his sculpted chest leading into chiseled abs that look equally as amazing as they felt under your touch. His hairy thighs are thick like tree trunks that you cannot wait to climb. Your jaw drops as you absolutely marvel at his hard, thick, glorious cock.

Deacon’s dazzling blue eyes roam over your body in a similarly awe-struck manner. He finds the vision of you so inspiring, in fact, that he starts to stroke himself as you shimmy out of your sheer lace panties. His long fingers dragging up and down his long cock is incredibly distracting as you hastily unclasp your bra. Once the last hook is thankfully undone, he bites his bottom lip when the fabric falls to the floor. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel sexier than you ever have in your whole life.

The drawer of the nightstand is quickly opened to pick out a condom then slammed shut. He threads his fingers together behind his head and allows you to do the honors. He needs no assistance as he’s already rock hard but you simply can’t resist giving him a few appreciative strokes before you roll the condom on.

You shiver with anticipation as you kneel onto the bed and straddle him, wanting to ride him like a Peloton. He grasps the base of his cock and holds it steady while you slowly sink down onto it, locking eyes in the process. He’s so big that it feels as if he’s going deeper into you than anyone has in the past. It takes a long moment for the walls of your pussy to become accustomed to the stretch. Deacon is perfectly patient beneath you though, not rushing or complaining, surely used to women needing this period of adjustment.

Having acclimated as much as your body will allow, you plant your palms firmly on his pecs and carefully lift up your hips, allowing an inch or two of his length to slip out from between your folds. Dropping your hips back down, you fill yourself up with him again and whimper at the residual ache.

He groans as you squeeze around his cock. “You feel so fucking good,” he says under his breath, causing your cunt to involuntarily squeeze around him again.

“So do you,” you reply between panting breaths.

As you start to develop a rhythm, you pick up his left arm and his hand instinctively resumes its previous position around your throat. Without any guidance, his right thumb gravitates to your clit, circling it at a steady, hypnotic pace.

Both of his hands working their magic on you again, your eyes close and your head falls back in ecstasy. Your own hands increase their grip on his chest, delighting in the feel of his hair beneath your palms.

Your heavy breaths sync up with his, like a melody of scolding hot passion. Over and over, your hips swivel in circles, experiencing the agonizing joy of his shaft repeatedly grinding against your g-spot.

Teetering on the edge of climax, you begin to feel lightheaded, the sensations coursing through you becoming too much to handle. Gasping for air, your fingers frantically tap on his forearm. At the exact second that he releases your throat from his tight grasp, your orgasm shoots through your body like a volt of electricity.

His hand slides down and braces against your upper chest, preventing you from falling forward as you ride your release with abandon. “Oh, Deacon!” you cry out, no longer giving a single fuck about who hears you.

Desperately, you grab onto his arms for more stability as your muscles spasm uncontrollably around his cock. The feeling of electricity coursing through your veins is so intense that it’s almost as if you’re vibrating on top of him.

Eventually, the tempo of your gyrations slows as your mind gently drifts back down to earth. Before you’re able to fully catch your breath, he yanks you down by the waist, your chest hitting his, and rolls you onto your back. Deacon props himself up on his sinewy forearms and begins to thrust into you, hard and fast. You were so wrapped up in your own climax that you didn’t realize that he hadn’t reached his. Judging by the sounds he’s making now, it’s only a moment away.

Again you feel pleasure building up inside you like a volcano ready to erupt. The volume of your moaning nearly drowns out the sound of his harsh grunts. Your legs tremble wildly on either side of him while your nails carve tiny crescent moons into the muscled ridges of his shoulders.

“Oh, fuck! Deacon!” you yell, losing control a second time.

“That’s it, honey! Say my name!” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Deacon!” you shout as he pounds you into the mattress.

With a guttural roar, he gives one final powerful thrust and explodes inside you. His body stills and his muscles tense as he releases into the condom. Your name escapes his mouth in a hot breath against your ear.

Once completely spent, he collapses on top of you. The weight of his body on yours is heavenly as you both try to regulate your breathing. Your walls flutter around him one last time as he kisses your neck again, in a much more nurturing fashion than he did in the cab.

When he pulls out, you wince, already feeling a bittersweet soreness. It’s difficult to recall if you’ve ever felt so satiated before, as if every itch within you had been so thoroughly scratched. A part of you already wishes that this luscious ache will never go away. 

As he stands up to dispose of the condom, you cover your mouth to suppress a gasp. This is the first time you’ve noticed his backside, and oh, what a side it is. Deliciously plump and pinchable, you can’t take your eyes off of it until he gets back in bed.

Lying next to you again, Deacon pats his chest with both hands and says “C’mere.”

“No,” you giggle.

“Come ooon,” he goads, drawing out the second word and making you giggle more.

“No, we’re both all sweaty,” you protest.

“I don’t care,” he dismisses playfully. “I wanna fuckin’ cuddle,” he adds as he pulls you on top of him.

You don’t resist when he wraps his massive arms around you, cradling you to his chest. When you rest your head on him, using his pecs like a pillow, your body relaxes. The rise and fall of his breathing soothes any remaining doubts you have about being this close to him.

“Besides,” he kisses the top of your head, “I like you when you’re sweaty.”


End file.
